["Hollow" is one word for it. Frisk regards him blankly, his words passing through them like a gust of wind overhead. Intellectually, they understand what it is he's said. They know each word separately and they know what they mean put together. But nothing inspires the remotest bit of confidence in their chest, or any emotion at all. He could have told them they were garbage at playing ukulele, and that they should just give up, and then smashed the thing right in front of them until it flew into splinters and chunks of varnished wood, and he would have achieved the precise same reaction.
They're probably being a huge let-down right now, aren't they?]
All right. [They should try to be agreeable. Be good for the adult, right? Yes. That sounds right. Just remember that adults know best for you. Then it'll all be fine.] I guess you're right.
no subject
They're probably being a huge let-down right now, aren't they?]
All right. [They should try to be agreeable. Be good for the adult, right? Yes. That sounds right. Just remember that adults know best for you. Then it'll all be fine.] I guess you're right.
[He must be right.]